The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Being the Deputy Director of Operations means in essence you get to do what the Director does not want to do. He does not like to travel; which is interesting for someone in the logistics business. I, on the other hand, don’t mind it, and the family understood it is part of the job.

The travel falls into three categories—the Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Which also happens to be my ringtone on Charlotte’s phone.

The Good? Meeting with folks in the field for promotions, awards, recognitions, etc.

The Bad? Meeting with clients. It’s collegial, and the company credit card does most of the heavy lifting. But the ice is thin and can crack with one misplaced step.

The Ugly? I put on the black hat and become Dr. Doom. Cut-backs and layoffs, be they just bad luck or bad performance, are always unpleasant at this time of year but given the last two years, now it’s ugly.

A sub-depot in the Northern Tier needed to be cleaned up and the Fifth Floor could not afford to wait any longer. Everyone answers to someone and the spreadsheets don’t lie.

So when I arrived this morning without notice, management knew what was coming. Explanations were offered, leniency was sought, and hardships were pled. I was as flexible as I could be, but the result was the same—clean house.

An hour after closing found me fighting the wind and flurries as I walked across the parking lot from the hotel to the restaurant. There was no hostess so I walked over to the bar. It was in the center of the floor and was u-shaped, the open end facing the kitchen. I took a seat closest to the end, where I could see the door. No one else was on my side; there were three or four on the other side with one guy by himself opposite mine. I nodded to the folks as I sat.

The bartender dropped the menu with a smile and a ‘what’llyahave?’ I don’t drink much on the road, but this was not a good day. A double Tequila, neat, with no foo-foo and the Grilled Chicken Salad with Rranch was my reply.

Taking a couple of serious swallows, I sat back and looked around. There were a couple of families, but the rest were working folks. Frayed caps, stained Levi and Carhartt jackets over sweatshirts, and well-worn parkas was the dress code. But not the guy across from me. He had a ball cap with the DU logo, but it looked fresh off the shelf, a pull-over sweater with a collared shirt underneath and a khaki overcoat laying over the chair beside him.

I lingered too long sizing him up, which he noticed. He nodded, smiled and gave a little shrug as if to say, ‘yeah, I’m a little out of place’. I smiled back and shrugged as well thinking, ‘yeah, a lawyer from Denver’.

I took a couple more sips and then did the obligatory phone check, thumbing through emails looking for anything radioactive. I had no interest in dealing with the routine. I just wanted to move the evening along.

The salad came. Appetizing as it was I only looked at it to target the fork. The phone was face down as Charlotte never allowed outside distractions at mealtime. So that left my side of the restaurant for distraction between bites. As I mentioned, there wasn’t much going on. The working guys were chatting with the bartender and the families were either eating or keeping kids under control.

That left the fellow across from me. A detail I did not pick up on the first go around was his gloves. They were black and tight fitting, like vinyl but leather. And he kept them on while drinking his wine. It’s cold outside sure, but whatever. Maybe it’s a Covid thing.

A couple of bites later and he is pulling the gloves off. They are obviously tight so he is tugging on them like a stripper early in the act. I miss a couple of bites watching the process, the bar lights reflecting off the gloves catching my eye. He notices and gives a little smile. Embarrassed, I give a shrug, z nod and start paying attention to the salad.

After a few bites with my head down, a flickering reflection starts to catch my eye. I look up to see what it is. The guy has removed his gloves and is slowly drumming his right hand on the bar, which is what is catching my eye.

His nails are reflecting the light. Not only that, they are painted a reddish-gold. They aren’t real long, but long enough. When she waited tables, Charlotte used to wear a color called “I’m not really a waitress’. It was a dark red wine, reflective color. In a word, eye-catching.

I stare. A guy with painted nails is weird enough, but in this town? This place? He might as well have walked in wearing a Speedo.

As I’m staring, the bartender is in front of me taking my plate and asking if I want another drink. “Yeah, sure,” I say. “Say, what’s up with the guy across from me?

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“The red nails; a little out of place don’t you think?” I reply.

She glances over. “Yeah, I suppose,” she chuckles. “As long as he tips, what do I care?”

“Fair enough,” I say. I leave her a nice tip for the professionally neutral answer.

I can’t take the drink back to the room, I mean I could try, but why try. So I’m nursing it with slow sips. It’s not the worse Tequila I’ve ever had. And I’m trying to avoid staring out around the bar, especially at the fellow with the nails, by giving the wood grain a careful examination.

But my head keeps lifting up just enough to see the nails. His fingers are moving in a slow, smooth patter—— little finger first and then a three-four second pause before starting again. And I find myself breathing in and then out with each flutter. Pretty soon my glass is empty and I’m just staring and breathing.

A few moments later, the bartender puts another glass in front of me and says with a slight smirk, “Compliments of the fellow over there.”

This startles me out of my stare. “Thanks,” I murmur.

I raise the glass and make eye contact with the fellow, again a nod and a mouthed ‘thank you’.

He nods back. He then stops the strumming and rotates his hand palm up. Now his nails are cascading towards his wrist. He caresses his palm as he extends them and pulls them back, little finger first.

With his other hand he raises his wine glass to take sip, pausing for second to suggest that I do the same. Which I do without thinking.

A few more moments, a few more sips, and then he stops the fluttering. He extends his arm and gives me to come here gesture—like Neo in the Matrix. I just stare. But on the fourth wave, I slide my phone in my pocket, put on my coat and walk around to him.

As I approach he clasps his hands together with his elbows on the bar so that those rich red shiny nails on his left hand are moving ever so slowly. I stop at the stool, just staring.

His voice is soft, but deep and firm.

“Thanks for letting me buy you the drink. You seemed like you needed it. Am I right?” he asked.

I could barely get more than a whisper out, still watching the nails. “Yeah, rough day, I appreciate it.”

“Good,” he says. “Seems you’d like to put this day behind you, right? Just head back to the hotel and relax, right?”

“Yeah,” I agree.

“That’s why I like to move my fingers like I’ve been doing. It relaxes me—soothing and calming. And apparently it does you too. I notice you’ve been watching them since I took my gloves off. Just drifting and relaxing.”

Had I?

“I like this color. It’s so rich and soft. The red is so alluring and the hint of gold gives them an irresistible lure. So much so, you came over to see them up close and now that you have, you really can’t look away can you?”

I was falling into a warm stupor. I could feel a tingling in my neck and my abdomen. My chest was swaying towards him in time to the motion of his nails.

“That’s right. More and more relaxed. More and more agreeable. More and more compliant,” his voice was still soft and firm at the same time.

“You are staying at the hotel?” he asked. “Just nod if that’s right.”

I nodded.

“Fine, so am I,” he smiled. Sliding off the stool and into his coat in one motion, his slid his arm through mine. “Let’s go.”

As we walked across the parking lot, his voice was murmuring in my ear about warmth and relaxing and trust and how I could still see his alluring nails in my mind and to focus on them and his voice. The night was clear, and there was a bright full moon that added to the warmth I felt.

As we entered, he asked for my room number and the key. He was concerned that the Tequila had gone to my head. So I fished it out as we waited for the elevator. Once the door closed, he put his arm around me, supporting me to the room.

Opening the door, he steered my inside, turning on the entry light and then stripping off my coat. He dropped it on the bed which was followed by his coat. He sat me on the edge of bed and cupped my chin so that I was looking up at him.

He held both his hands in front of my eyes, fluttering the fingers again.

“This is a good color, it drew you right in, faster than most,” he smiled.

I barely heard him; I was just following his fingers.

“Too bad we have to stop, but I think you are sufficiently submissive now.”

Something about the word ‘submissive’ was not right. Sure I was just sitting on the bed but all this fellow had done was make sure I got to the room.

He looked down and gripped me under my arms, lifting me off the bed with ease.

His face was an inch from mine. More firmly than before, he commanded, “Relax, obey, submit.”

I was frozen.

“Open,” he said as he pushed his tongue through my lips.

I gasped, and he went further in.

His tongue was warm. Very warm. I gasped again as I felt it getting even warmer. He went further in, and then withdrew for a second. Commanding again, “Take it—suck it—take it deeper!”

I did not resist when he pushed in the second time. I pursed my lips and sucked to squeeze it further in. His tongue reached up to the roof of my mouth, rubbing and caressing almost as if he was exploring. Then he stopped at one spot, pressing on it. His tongue convulsed and suddenly there was a sharp sting. In a second the roof of my mouth was on fire, spreading down my neck and then into my arms.

Snapping out of the trance, I opened my eyes and mouth. His tongue pushed up harder, still convulsing as the sting started to subside. As quickly as he struck, he withdrew and stepped back. I grabbed my mouth with my hand.

“What did you do, you, you fucking pervert. Get out of here; get the fuck out of here.” I yelled.

He didn’t move. He just looked at me, waiting. The fire was now down into my legs.

I started to take a step towards him, but the room wobbled. My knees were giving way. I tried to steady myself on the dresser, but that wasn’t working too well either. I sunk to my knees and then I was on all fours, trying to push back up.

“What, what—what?” I panted and grunted.

“Simple,” he said. “You fell into my web so to speak. As my venom spreads through you, you can’t resist. The nails, and the suggestions are only good for a light trance. It gets me close, but it won’t suffice for what I need from you. And this way the goods don’t get damaged in the process. Some folks aren’t as submissive as you and it can get, well, awkward if I force the issue.”

All I could do was grunt, “Wha th fffff u?” My tongue was getting thicker

“Hungry,” he said with a smirk. “Thanks for asking. I have to feed like this every four months or so, and you just happened to be on the menu.”

Panting, digging for strength, “Uhhhh—fitttts,” I panted.

“Oh, you think?” He was sort of bemused. “Well, I think you will oblige me in any way and as often as I want until I’ve drained you. So let’s get this party started.”

He pulled my head back and then gripped my neck with both hands, forcing me to rise with what little strength was left in the legs. Reaching under my shoulders he rotated and dropped me on the edge of the bed. He was holding on to my hair to keep me upright. The funny bone feeling was now completely down my arms and legs. At least I could breathe.

“So, you’re thinking you’ll wait for an opening and make your move,” he said. “Won’t work; in a moment or two, your mind will be so open you won’t have a free thought or be able to resist any command I give you.”

“Uhhhhhh,” was all I could manage.

“You don’t strike me as gay, but I’ve been wrong before. Maybe you’re bi?”

I tried to glare.

“I’ll take that as a no. So we’ll get you aroused and when you don’t know which way is up, you won’t care who is fucking you.”

He unzipped his sweater and shrugged it off, swapping hands to hold my head up. My body was now immersed in a bucket of warm Jell-O. Everything was warm and in slow-motion. It was just like those few moments of floating after you orgasm.

His shirt and under shirt were off now and joined the pile. He was trim, moderately well built, light hair on his chest. He turned towards me and took a step closer. His crotch was at eye level and he was rubbing his thumbs in his waistband, around to the side and back to the button, slowly and smoothly.

“Look up here,” he said pulling my head back. “Look at me, listen to me, you have no choice, no will, no choice, look at me,” he almost purred.

My thoughts of resistance were fading. His eyes were captivating. I starred, becoming more and more calm. Curiously there was no fear, just calm.

“You want to do as I say, my essence is deep inside you, you are trapped in it, surrounded by it, enveloped totally and completely. Understand.”

I blinked.

“Very good. Again, I’ll take that as a yes. And as you obey me and surrender, the warmth will grow, the desire to obey will grow, the desire to submit will grow.”

I blinked again.

“And you now obey me, correct?” he demanded.

Three more blinks.

“Lower your eyes,” he said.

I looked down. While I was lost in my daydream, he had let his pants and briefs drop. His cock was a foot away. He was caressing and playing with it, gently swinging it back and forth. I knew I could shut my eyes, but I didn’t.

“Good, keep watching and looking. Look hard—real hard. This is the only thing in your world now. Watch it as it sways.”

He was drifting my head in the same direction he cock was going.

“I want you to think of the first time someone went down on you. Remember how she saw a cock that she wanted to please. She saw a cock that she needed. She saw a young, hard cock that she wanted to consume. Lick your lips like she did. Tell me you want me.”

I tried to press my lips.

“Good,” he purred. “Encourage me; make me harder; beg to please me.”

My heart was pounding. All I could do though was make a slight groan.

He chuckled, “That’s OK; I just want you thinking about it.”

He came closer, his cock growing even more as he maneuvered it.

“Let’s open you up now,” he pulled forward.

He rubbed it back and forth across my lips. It felt like my lips were being coated with lip gloss—smooth, creamy, fragrant.

Holding my head still, he held his cock with the other and pushed forward slowly. He let go of it and pushed my lower jaw down.

“Use your lips to rub the sides, keep the teeth covered, tease the tip with your tongue.” He began to penetrate lowly: half inch, full inch, back a half, forward a little further.

He moaned now, “I am so hungry and your mouth feels like velvet. Ahhhh, this is good.”

Then he pulled me off. “I can tell you want this. Give in to the desire to suck it all the way in.”

His words filled my mind. He opened me wider and he pulled me down. My eyes were burning as the lust took over. He slowly increased the pace, until he was fully hard. I could taste a change as my tongue floated on its own around the tip, and then rested against his cock as I went further down..

“I think I’m ready—don’t you?” he sighed. Then drawing a breath, he commanded, “Look at me.”

I looked up as he pulled my head back.

“Focus on my eyes. Lose yourself in my eyes.” He kept repeating as he stood me up from the bed. With one hand on my throat to steady me, he pulled my sweater and t-shirt up and over, tossing them on the floor. Next were my pants and briefs. Pushing me back down on the bed, these too were discarded along with my boots.

Leaning over, he raked his nails up and down my chest, caressing and tweaking my nipples.

“Time to fuck you and time for me to feed,” he growled.

I shuddered, trying to flex my shoulders. He leaned back. “Go ahead, try,” he said softly. “But as soon as enter I you, you’ll just be wondering how deep I can go. Any thoughts of resistance will burn up as I fuck you harder and deeper.

He began caressing my thighs and drifting his fingers around my ass, lightly penetrating. I could feel his hands getting warmer. It was distracting. I had sensation but still no voluntary control. I could see and think and breathe, but speaking was hard. I tried again. Nothing.

“You’re fighter, I’ll give you that,” he said. He leaned to the right and fished around in his coat pocket. He dropped a tube and a surgical glove on my stomach. “In a little bit you’ll get some muscle control back, but as we progress, what little free will you have is gonna dissolve like snow in the rain. So let’s finish this up; I’m really hungry.”

He put the glove on, dripped some of the tube on his finger and proceeded to go way past the limits of the standard prostate exam.

“Just making sure you’re clean,” he said looking at the glove. “Nice and clean up there, just like a girl’s pussy. You must be more than a little bit anal huh?” He stripped it off, tossing it to the side.

I couldn’t even summon up a grunt.

“So whatta you say let’s take this party to the next level,” he said as he dripped the lube on his right fingers. He inserts one, then two, then three fingers in my ass. I tried to squirm or buck but still no muscle reaction. The sensation though made my dick stir as I gradually opened up with each stroke.

He reaches over me and grabs two pillows and then puts my legs of his shoulders, shoving the pillows underneath.

“Got to get the angle just right; don’t want to bottom out when I dive in. But let’s have you warm me up one more time. ”

He drops my legs and crawls up on all fours, his cock again over my lips. With his thumb he opens me up and slides in and out several times.

Crawling back down he places my hands under my ass and then places my legs over his thighs.

I feel his cock as it nestles against my anus. I know what’s coming and my mind relives the sensation of his fingers, “Shit,” I think. “Am I wanting this?”

One finger enters, probing and circling, followed by his tip.

“Oh this is going to be good he moans, you’re so wet and slick. Looks like I’m gonna just slide right in,” he moans.

A very sharp inhale as he filled me. The jolt went straight from my ass to my brain—the sensation of being filled was overwhelming. I could not move yet but that did not stop from trying to pull him closer with my legs.

He must have sensed it. As he slid in again slowly this time, he leaned down, running his tongue over my lips.

“You’re still a rag doll for another moment or two, but soon you’ll be begging me to fuck you harder,” he gloated.

He settled back, grabbing my hips and slowly going all the way up and then ever so slowly back out. After a few of these strokes, it seemed like his cock was getting warmer, seriously warmer. And his moans were getting lustier.

“You feel me now,” he muttered. “The heat from my cock is making your heart pump faster and faster trying to absorb it. But all you are doing is feeding me.”

His pace starting increasing. The sensation stirred my cock, and I could feel my legs twitch a little.

Now he’s moving faster and I’m so warm sweat is running down my chest and abdomen, dripping on his cock. I want him further in me and so I try to crunch or pull with my legs. And suddenly my legs respond.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Pull me in; you need me further in. Feel my heat rising through your chest. Your heart racing to keep up.”

I was now arching my back some and my cock was throbbing.

“You’re going to cum in just a few seconds,” he gasped. “And then I’m going to drain you.”

A flash of fear came and went, shoved aside by the building lust. I need to release; I needed him to explode. I wanted to give him the best orgasm ever.

He sat up straight, running his nails up and down the back my legs. It was like throwing a switch. I exploded. The orgasm began at the back of my head and descended down my spine.

He leaned forward, putting both his hands on my chest. His cock pulsing. Then I felt it swell more and erupt—again and again. It was even hotter that his cock. It felt like foam filling my insides.

He was sitting straight up looking down at me, rocking slightly and watching me.

My heart rate had to be over 225, I was gasping for like I had swam 50 meters underwater.

As he pulled out and stood, he grabbed one of my legs and flipped me over face down into the pillow. Some survival instinct made me slide my face ever so slightly to the side where was an air pocket. But I was not recovering. My heart was still racing and my breaths were getting more shallow. “Calm”, I thought. “Be calm and wait.”

It could have been a minute; it could have been thirty minutes, but all of a sudden my body jerked in all four directions and I took a huge breath.

I heard water running in the bath room and then him walking into the room. I groaned and rolled slightly.

“Well,” he said, “This is unexpected.“

I groaned again.

“Figured a guy your age would get v-tach and then come to a screeching halt. You must be in pretty good shape; your legs look like a runner or cyclist. No matter though, you’ve barely got enough energy left in you to survive to morning. The coroners always rule it a heart attack—sudden arrhythmia sort of thing. So you really ought to have died by now, less suffering.”

His tone was smug. And cold, very very cold.

“But every few years someone survives, which is not necessarily a good thing. So on the 1:1000 chance you live I’ll leave you with this. Should you be alive in the morning, you won’t be able to tell anyone what happened. And then, and this is the best part, every 112 days or so, when the moon gets full, you’re going to have an uncontrollable urge to suck some guy’s cock and then take it up the ass until it’s completely spent. So good luck with that—you being a nice middle-aged heterosexual—— hah——.

That was two years ago.

I somehow made it through the night, but scared housekeeping something fierce when she found me on the floor. I passed off the next two days as recovery from the flu and then limped home.

But like he said, I couldn’t say a word about it. Besides, who would I tell—Charlotte? No ‘efffing’ way. It was too unreal to dwell on, but it was always there in the back, especially on the long bike rides.

Sure enough, about four months later, I started to have more intense flashes of the event. These got more frequent to the point where I saw myself sucking him and then his putting his dick up my ass. My mouth and ass tingled and twitched every time the images popped up. A day or so later, I’m walking across a hotel parking lot to check in, and yep—there’s a full moon.

His words fluttered in my ears—— suck a cock, fuck a cock, suck it, fuck it. Over and over.

I started to sweat and tremble. The urge was washing through me in waves. Back in the car, a quick web search, off to a sex shop, pick out a dildo and some lube, pay cash and get back to the hotel. Up to the room and stripping as I walk into the room and putting the dildo in my mouth. I caress it and take it as deep as I can. Laying on the bed, holding it my mouth, I take the lube and in moments I have two fingers in my ass spreading my hole as wide as I can. In goes the dick and in less than 20 strokes, I cumming with vigor.

But after the next two periods, the dildo was not enough. I needed to be fucked. And fucked hard. A cold piece of rubber is not the same as a real cock that responds and releases.

So now I make it a point to be on the road in a major city when my urge is going to occur. A little research locates a male masseur who offers “male-only” massages. The trick is finding one that looks amiable.

I’m face down on the table. No drape, of course. He’s naked too, of course. As he works my neck and shoulders standing at the top of the table, I take my hands and caress the back of his legs and thighs. As he reaches forward to rub down my spine, I slightly lift my head so his dick rubs against my head. And then as he comes to my side to work on the lower back, my hand brushes his package. And so he smears some lotion in my hand and places his dick there. I caress and stroke slowly, feeling it swell. The same with the other side, only this time I shift a little and take the head and rub it against my hip. As with the others, this one asks how far I would like to go. I say nothing, rising up on my knees, turn towards him, put my hand on his shoulder or neck, pulling him close and murmur ‘as far as you want, kissing him softly with a hint of tongue. Sometimes I come off the table, kneel and take him in my mouth; other times, I scoot down the end, raise my knees and lift my ass. It all depends on how hard I’ve made him.

And as he fucks me, I encourage him to cum, to use me, to fuck me, to take me. And as he cums, so do I. I feel my chest and abdomen burn as it did back in the room. And then the fire subsides, for a while.

The curious thing is there is no guilt or shame. I’m alive. And every fourth full moon, very very alive.